Candy from a Stranger
by Taisi
Summary: Sanji didn't notice right away when his lips and fingertips went numb. It was probably a good five minutes before he realized anything was wrong, and by then it was hard to breathe.


_"Jeez, you're like a shitty little kid. You just keep _asking."

Sanji fists are clenched as he makes his way through town, _fiercely _angry at himself.

He hasn't been feeling well lately, might be coming down with the flu if the aches and migraines are any indication, but that doesn't give him the right to petulant outbursts. If anyone was like a child back there, it was _him. _

_"You should learn to appreciate your comrades while you've got 'em, captain."_

"Why did I say that," he mutters to himself, face blank even as his hands start to cramp from how hard he's got them fisted, and his teeth grit through the butt of his cigarette. "Why did I _say _that."

_"Sanji, what the hell is wrong with you?"_

_"You can't just _talk _to him that way!"_

_"Where the hell do you think you're going?"_

And Luffy's confused _"Sanji?" _haunts him as he wanders toward a shopping plaza.

"It was wrong to say that to him, of all people," the cook almost whispers, weaving his way through the crowd. Admitting it takes the steel right out of his spine, and he slumps and drags a hand through his hair. "Shit. _Shit."_

Anyone else in the crew would have been hurt or furious or annoyed; they wouldn't have stared at him with wide, brown eyes, a slight tilt to their head and a worried crease forming in their brow where it certainly didn't belong. They wouldn't have abandoned their half-constructed kite to come toward him, reaching out before they're even halfway there, saying his name like it's a question and an answer all at once.

_Luffy was the last one who deserved that. _

An old woman catches his attention where she lingers hesitantly by the curb, a basket on one arm. The street is busy and crowded and she looks afraid to make her way across. Sanji rubs a hand over his face and hitches up a charming smile, stepping over to her side and offering his arm when he has her attention.

"Is there somewhere I can escort you? It'd be my pleasure."

She blinks at him a moment then smiles, her aged face creased with laugh lines and faded scars. The woman puts her hand in the crook of his arm, looking delighted by it, and says, "Thank you, young man, that's very kind of you."

And Sanji may have failed his crew and his captain and himself today, but at least he can still make a lady smile. He guides her into the street, and cuts a sharp, cool glance at whoever tried to get in their way. With perhaps a little too much darkness in his eye, maybe a little too much malice in the way his mouth turns down. But his chest is an aching, twisting mess and he regrets what he did _so much _and there's no way he can think of to make it right, and now he just wants to cross the street with this old lady and go back to feeling sorry for himself, _thank you very much. _

They step onto the opposite curb, and she asks if he'd walk her to her shop on the corner. He bows graciously without loosing her light grip on his elbow and elicits a giggle from her that probably stirred hearts once.

"Can I carry your basket for you?" he asks her, and the woman tells him she can manage.

"You're a good man," she says as they walk. Once a man hurrying in the opposite direction almost ran her right over, and Sanji grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and all but flung him aside without losing step. "Not many people would have stopped to help me back there."

_'Good man' my ass._

He supposes he might have been a little more charming, a little more cheerful, on any other day; but she doesn't seem to mind his polite and quiet company, and soon enough she's unlocking the door of her store.

"Thank you again," she tells him, and his smile feels like it's taking years off his life but he manages somehow. "Oh, in fact, here- for your trouble- "

"Oh, no ma'am, there's really no need- "

"Hush, and take this," she says not unkindly, and presents him with a small cake. At a brief glance Sanji can tell it's firm and moist, and won't crumble against his lips as he takes a bite. It looks like dark chocolate, almost black, and topped with delicate white frosting.

_A beautiful cake, _he decides, and from a quick taste, a delicious one, too. Not too sweet to be grainy, with a hint of bitterness from the chocolate, and a certain texture he can't quite distinguish.

She must see some confusion on his face, because she laughs aloud. "It's a local favorite," she tells him with a wink. Ah, of course; professionals must guard their secrets after all, or where would the world be?

From one cook to another, Sanji offers her the best compliment he can in popping the rest of the cake into his mouth. She laughs again and he wipes frosting off his lip with his thumb and waves farewell.

"A pleasant enough distraction," he murmurs to himself as he strides away, the smile fallen from his face like a stone, and the cake an uncomfortable lump in his churning stomach. "But you're still a shitty person, Sanji, and you _know it."_

He didn't notice right away when his lips and fingertips went numb. It was probably a good five minutes before he realized anything was wrong, and by then it was hard to breathe. A hand clenching the fabric of his shirt over his frantically heaving chest, Sanji stumbles and almost falls; catches himself against a wall, and pitches forward a few more steps.

At a quick glance around, he had no idea where he was. _Great, _he thinks with passion, and stomps his wheeling panic down with a mental boot. _This is great. _

Vision blurring and flying apart, he manages to sit down heavily, and drag his knees up to his chest, one at a time and very slowly.

Sanji isn't sure how much time must have passed, but soon enough he hears footsteps coming closer and he almost goes limp with relief.

_They found me. _He sighs, and peels his eyes open to greet whichever one of his nakama has-

A hand grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back, baring his throat. The sudden vertigo and sharp pain makes him yelp, and he scrambles uselessly for a moment to get his bearings, to get his feet back under him, to focus his eyes as his vision swims and spins on his attacker, to make himself _useful _for shit's sake-

A needle piercing his neck has him frozen, and soon he's sliding down, down, down into a pitch black sleep.

_"You're a good man," _he thinks he hears the old woman croon. _"And good men certainly taste the best."_


End file.
